To Have and to Hold (Finders Keepers #4)

Chapter Six

The Pantheon blazed with candlelight, laughter, and the sweep of strings. Cecily entered on William Devereaux’s arm, all her suspicions coming true. He was indeed a flirt of magnificent levels, and he exuded arrogant confidence, no doubt that she would fall for his charms.

One could perfume excrement, but that did not make it taste any better. Even so, the magnificence of the building replaced her thoughts of discontent with ones of wonder.

Everything was so very golden . Lights reflected from gilt vases, adding to the illusion of gold. If she tilted her head back, she could make out the famous stuccos—grotesque, but oddly charming, in a distinctly gothic style. A dome rose overhead, and even the walls of the ballrooms were lusciously painted. Guests milled around statues of the Roman gods and goddesses.

If Cecily had been there alone—and a more dangerous thing for a lady she could not conceive—she would have been content to stare all day at its grandeur.

Unfortunately, she was not alone.

To his credit, William behaved very charmingly for the first two dances, all outrageous compliments and very few wandering hands or eyes. He boasted about his experiences in Italy and the magnificence of the architecture there, and if Cecily hadn’t noticed the dangerous gleam in his eye, she might have thought the outing an innocent one.

That was, until he led her to a darkened corner, one hand to the small of her back, and when she twisted away, he caught her arm.

If she had ever needed confirmation he was not who she had once thought him to be, this was it.

“Come now, petal,” he said, gripping her a little too strongly. “I know you’ve missed me. Wearing the willow for me all these years.”

She turned to look at him. “Is that what you think? I’m married now, William.”

“Ah yes, to that stuffy baronet. Does he keep you locked up, my flower? Did you have to escape his clutches to come here with me? Never fear—I shall contrive ways for you to escape his reach. When I want something, I am not denied.”

A bead of sweat rolled down her spine. Even if she had been in a mood to partake in an assignation, the heat would have been enough to put her off. Nothing was less appealing than feeling damp and uncomfortable. Not one gentleman considered that when they made their advances in the bitter cold or the height of summer.

And with all the bodies crammed in around them? The multitudes of candles that lit the place?

Yes, it looked all very romantic, and she would brave the heat to dance, but decidedly not for this.

He pressed still closer, forcing her to attempt to step back—and encounter a wall. Really, was he going to force himself on her in public? Instead of fear, she only felt a burst of anger. Perhaps he thought she hadn’t grown since the age of nineteen, when she had been so desperate for his affection, but he would shortly find that wasn’t the case.

Still, she had come here with him to find the truth once and for all.

“I have a question for you,” she said, staring into his handsome face and wondering how she could have been so deceived by it. “If we had not been discovered all those years ago, what would you have done?”

A grin spread slowly across his face. “Perhaps we could find out here, petal.”

“Perhaps not. Would you have married me?”

“What does that matter now? You married another.”

“Because you fled when he discovered us.”

His grip on her arm tightened once more. “What else was I to do when he revealed he had bought my debts and would call them in if I didn’t leave the country at once?” he growled. “Four years I stayed away, all because of him.”

Cecily suffered three unpleasant shocks in one. The first was that Percy, in all in his gallant efforts to protect her, had sent William away, and that was why he had left the country.

The second was that William no doubt saw seducing her as a form of revenge. Once again, his actions had no bearing on his feelings for her as a woman.

The third was that, then and now, she was an idiot.

“But,” William said, his tone once again smooth and charming, “we need not concern ourselves with that.”

She shoved him back. “At which point did you think I would forsake my marriage vows for the sake of a man whom I have not seen for four years?” she asked icily. “One whom, moreover, tried to ruin me?”

“You did well for yourself out of it. Married your rich baronet and lived the life of luxury. Really, you ought to be thanking me for forcing his hand. Maybe he would never have offered for you otherwise.” William’s breath was hot against her cheek as he leant in, pressing her more firmly against the wall. “And now we are free to have our fun together with no fear of ruin or repercussions. Is that not something?”

“This is not my idea of fun.”

“It will be once I’ve kissed you.”

Although Cecily had hoped William had grown out of being the scoundrel he had once been, she had not come unprepared. Her maid, at her request, had pinned her hair up with several large hairpins, one of which she withdrew now, jamming it into the fleshy part of his arm. He howled and leapt back, colliding with the wall and almost sliding behind the curtains. A few masked guests looked around, but the purpose of a masquerade was not so they could become involved with another’s business, and they quickly turned away again.

“Do not think you can touch me without my permission,” she said with all the cold dignity she could muster. “Or you may be certain I’ll do that again.”

“What the devil was that for?” he hissed, clutching his arm. It was bleeding, she noted dispassionately. “You’ve ruined my best coat!”

“Well, then. Next time, I hope you’ll accept a lady’s refusal when she gives it.” Cecily turned and surveyed the crowd, keeping her head high as she located her second mistake of the evening.

Stabbing her only method of returning home.

If she had fully thought this through, she would have procured an alternate method of travelling home. William’s ego would not take her besting him lightly, and he was definitely not enough of a gentleman to escort her back home. At least, not without her relinquishing something in return.

Not for the first time, she wished Percy had been available to escort her instead. With him, she could be safe, at liberty to enjoy the dancing and the thrill without fear. Her lip quivered, and she tilted her chin up higher.

A figure emerged from the gloom beside her, and she started, thinking for a moment it was William. But no: this figure was far taller and broader, and instead of wearing a black mask as William had done, his was white and feathered, just like hers. Her gaze dropped to his hands, and she frowned. They looked familiar—ones she had seen around a book recently; ones that she had imagined pressed against her skin.

“Bravo,” Percy said, nodding to William. “A truly magnificent performance.”

There could be no mistaking it. Percy was here . Percy, her husband, whom she had distinctly heard saying had an engagement tonight. Could he have meant this? Or did he arrive because he thought she wanted him to?

The question was, did he recognise her?

The spark in his eyes told her that he did. And he was waiting to take his lead from her—whether she confessed to recognising him, or whether they would continue as strangers.

The thought appealed. No history between them, no resentment, none of the difficulties that had plagued their marriage since its outset. If she could pretend she did not know him, would she like him?

So she tilted her head and smiled. “I like to think I am not a lady to be trifled with.”

“I would be tempted to agree.”

“I don’t suppose you would like to dance?”

He stepped a little closer, the difference in height between them so achingly familiar. “Would you?”

“Yes. You see, unfortunately my former partner is indisposed.”

Percy turned his amused glance after William, who was storming away through the crowd. A lady in a provocative dress attempted to stand in his way, fluttering her fan at him, but he shoved her aside. A surprise, given his tastes, but clearly he was in a rage.

“I cannot think it too much of a shame,” he said. “Your former partner does not strike me as an agreeable gentleman.”

“He was not,” she said with feeling, casting another glance at Percy, certain he had seen the whole sorry affair and knew precisely who William was.

“Then may I say how relieved I am to hear you are no longer in his clutches.”

“I have not been for a while.”

He eyed her thoughtfully, then smiled. “I’m glad to hear it.” He held out his hand to her. “Your dance, ma’am.”

She accepted his hand and allowed him to lead her into the middle of the floor. A Viennese waltz was playing, and she felt a little flutter of nerves as he laid his hand on her waist. “My hairpin is very accessible,” she warned him.

He chuckled, low under his breath. “I doubt anyone who saw you in action would ever consider you an easy target, my dear.”

“May I have a name to call you by?”

His hesitation was so slight, she barely felt it, and then he nodded, leaning in a little closer. “Why not Odysseus? You could be Circe.”

“Circe?” She raised her brows. “Are you afraid I might turn you into a pig?”

“Not in the slightest,” he said, amused again. “If you recall, his men were the ones turned into pigs—she did not manage to trick him .”

“What are you trying to insinuate?”

“They were in love for a year before their parting,” he murmured. “Once she had lifted the enchantment over his men.”

Her stomach clenched and dipped, and the hand he held in hers trembled slightly. She struggled to retain her composure. Why now she should be so affected by his profession of love, even in this lighthearted way, she didn’t know.

And yet.

And yet .

She gave him her best teasing smile. “I’m afraid I don’t have a year to spare you.”

“No?” He leaned ever closer, his cheek brushing against the side of her mask as he delivered his words straight into her ear. “How about a night?”

She shivered. The whole proposition felt entirely sordid, even if it was her husband. Still, she fancied William was watching, and she decided it would not hurt to allow herself this one liberty. She allowed herself to melt into Percy’s arms. “Perhaps a night.” Her voice sounded nothing like her usual self—it was deep, husky, a throaty hum that made his eyes spark. “But a night is not enough to fall in love.”

“Is it not? Tell that to my heart, which has been yours since I saw you stab that man so masterfully.”

“Have you always been attracted to violence?”

“Only when it comes in the form of hairpins.” He twirled her slowly, one hand grazing her waist. The other grasped hers. Their bodies were not close, not particularly, but despite the overpowering warmth in the air, she felt the heat from his chest.

She could not see the colour in his eyes, but she knew it anyway. Four years of reluctant marriage had taught her that his eyes were mingled brown and green, lighter when he looked at her, and sometimes darker.

His palm skimmed her waist, and she wondered if his eyes were dark now.

In truth, she hungered for it.

There was nothing ladylike or pure about her wants and desires; it was as though he had unlocked something inside her by those almost moments, the anticipation that never came to fruition.

The tender flesh between her legs throbbed at the soft press of his hand against the small of her back, and she thought it entirely possible she had gone mad.

To punish him for making her want him, she cocked her head and gave him a saucy smile. “You should know I’m married.”

He gave an answering smile, roguish in a way she was certain she had not seen before. Surely she would have noticed her husband being roguish . “Not to that unsavoury gentleman, I hope?”

“Oh no.” She tittered a laugh. “Very much not. He was nothing. An idle flirtation, long ended.”

“Is that so?” His voice deepened to a seductive rumble she’d never heard directed at her. “Tell me, Circe, is that all I am to you?”

“What else could you expect to be? We only have one night.”

“True.” His fingers grazed up her spine. “Then I suppose we should make it count.”

For a few moments, they danced in silence. Cecily could remember nothing of the world around them; the only thing that anchored her in place was the steady weight of his eyes, and the surety of his hands.

Eventually, she could bear the silence no more, and looked at the shape of his mouth, just visible from underneath his mask. “What of you?” she asked. “Do you have a wife?”

Amusement radiated through him at her question, but he kept to the unspoken game they were playing. “I do.”

“And yet you are here, flirting with strange ladies.”

“Mm.” The hand on her back moved to her side and gripped her hip, just for an instant. A heartbeat later, he was holding her as properly as a saint, but the squeeze had been so familiar, so possessive, that her head spun. “I do not think you are so strange to me, my witch.”

She took a moment to regain her bearings. “I fear you must make for a poor husband.”

“Perhaps. But you overestimate the investment of my wife.”

Her pulse quickened. “I doubt that.”

“At best, she is indifferent to me.”

She did not feel indifferent now. If anything, her skin felt more sensitive than ever, chafing under her clothes until she longed to rip them free of her body. The heat that rose in her coiled in her lower belly, and she could not blame her flush on the stuffiness of the air.

“I hardly think that likely,” she said, feeling as though she was gasping for air.

His hand slid up her spine again, flattening across her shoulder blades as though he intended to pull her against him, before thinking better of it. She longed for that pressure, even as his fingers made their infuriatingly slow path back down her spine. Then lower, just above the swell of her buttocks. In plain view of the other masked guests. Testing her limits.

Cecily’s breath caught, but she refused to pull away. If this was a game of whose will would break first, she would not succumb. After all, as improper as this might be, they were at a masquerade, and he was her husband. Of all the men on earth, the only one who had the right to lay hands on her—if she permitted it.

And permit it she did as his fingers explored the soft silk of her dress. Almost venturing low enough to be indecent, but never quite. His eyes hypnotised her, unnervingly beautiful in the dim light.

How could she ever have thought him old?

His head descended still lower, a fraction of a thought away from hers. It would be the work of a moment to tilt her face and catch his mouth against her own. A kiss. Her blood burned for it, pounded in her veins, demanding she take. For once in their marriage, all she wanted was him.

“Tell me one reason I should believe that my wife has any investment whatsoever in my exploits?” he murmured, breath brushing the damp skin of her lower lip. “Give me a reason to believe my wife cares about my comings and goings.”

Cecily’s fingers dug convulsively into his shoulders. “All wives care.”

“Is that so?” The question shivered across her skin.

“All those that I know, at least.”

“Even ones that never wished to marry their husband in the first place?”

Her heart hammered against her ribs, but they were in too deep for her to do anything but give him her truth. “Even then.”

“Mm.” He pulled her even closer. They’d spiralled out to the very edge of the dancing crowd, beside a pillar and bronze vase. Although people surrounded them on all sides, she felt as though they were invisible, alone in a world that only held the two of them. “You surprise me.”

“Ladies are taught not to expect fidelity from one’s husband, but I don’t think that stops us from wanting it.”

“Oh?” His knuckles brushed the line of her jaw. “And who might have told you that, my witch?”

“My mother made my role as a wife plain when I married.”

A noise rumbled in his chest that sounded distinctly like displeasure. “It strikes me that perhaps she might not know all there is to know about happiness in marriage.”

“She was married for a great many years before my father died.”

“Perhaps she was.” He backed her against a pillar, the cool marble leeching through the thin material of her dress and chemise. His hand came to her waist, sitting at its curve as though it was made to fit the shape of her body. “But does that mean she knows what is best for you and your marriage?” His nose nudged her earlobe, and her breath stuttered. “You are not your mother, and your husband is not your father. Do not tar us all with the same brush. We are not all unfaithful.”

Her father had been. Even as a girl, she had known that, hiding in the library as her mother had thrown ornaments at the wall over rumours of her father attending the opera with his mistress. Over the accounts proving he’d housed the very same mistress in an exclusive location in London.

“Is that to say you have never once strayed over the course of your marriage?”

He turned his head, and she thought she heard him inhale. “Not once.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Do you? I made vows, sweet Circe. I swore them to my wife and to my family and to God, and I have no intention of betraying them.”

If they had still been dancing, she would have stopped. As it was, the cool of the pillar against her back and the warmth of his body against her front, all she could do was tilt her head back to look at him. “You recall your vows?”

“Do you not?”

She did—she recalled the day as clear as if it were cut from crystal. The small church, the handful of people there to celebrate a marriage she had never asked for, and a husband standing in all his finery, swearing to love her, comfort her, honour and keep her.

She, in turn, had agreed to obey, serve, honour and keep him. And when she had looked into his eyes, she had seen only sincerity.

It had terrified her.

“We agreed to forsake all other,” she said.

“Yes.”

And yet they were here, with each other but not, pretending to live a lie because it was easier than admitting the truth.

She rested her hand lightly on his shoulder. “It seems we are both liars,” she whispered.

His arm slid further around her waist, pressing her against him. Not flush, but enough that her breasts brushed his chest. At the contact, her nipples hardened. Her face heated, and she prayed he couldn’t feel or see, even if the sensitivity fluttered through her body like lazy butterflies.

She was a flower slowly coming awake, and he was the sun.

Tonight, she would allow herself to feel.

Slowly, he brought their clasped hands to his mouth and kissed her knuckles. His mouth was hot against her skin. When he spoke, his voice had lowered. “Dance with me.”